Unexpected Views
by moms5thchild
Summary: There are times when Christie Sullivan's work crosses over Jim Dunbar's.
1. Chapter 1

Hello friends, sorry for the long wait, but I've been trying my hand at novel writing and it is not easy at all. That and my 86 year old mother broker her femur in November and that has taken up a lot of my energy and raised the stress level here.

This time I waited until the entire story was finished (it is a short one) and my beta reader was satisfied. Thank you, Alice. This is also my idea of a continuation of the Blind Justice universe. The show only had 13 episodes and there was such wasted potential for growth there... so I "growed it" my own way. Sorry Mr. Bochco but this is all for fun and not profit.

**Unexpected Views **

**Chapter One**

He ran into the editorial office, the banging of his portfolio against his leg matching the staccato beat of his cowboy boots.

"Ms. Sullivan, why have you rejected every one of my photographs?" Joffre DesLaurier whined at the new editor, Christine Sullivan.

"I have rejected those photographs because all of those male models looked like they were competing to see who had the most needle tracks on their arms." Christie said without even lifting her head from the light table. "These shots are supposed to show power brokers and you bring me shots of the same anorexic, drug addicted teenagers you always use."

"I have preferred models," Joffre said as he pulled himself to his full six foot five inches of height.

Christie finally looked up. "Joe, stop playing the game. You're good enough you don't have to be anything but Joe Lawrence… Joffre DesLaurier… where did you get that name, a cemetery? I found you when you were taking couples shots in restaurants. Those were good, but these are tired and stale."

The man flopped down, tired and exasperated, "This is _the_ game, Christie. You taught me how to play the game and now you want to change the rules. What happened?"

Christie leaned back into her chair and smiled. "Life; funny how it changes things. Right now I'm thinking we need to start something new and that means we need new faces. I've been asked to get this mature men project off to a good start, make the baby boomers feel sexy even if every picture has to be tinted Viagra blue. That's why I want the old Joe Lawrence. You used to be able to find a face perfect for any shot without even trying. Well, you have to try now and you've got one week to get new faces."

"And where do I find new-old faces." The photographer sighed and shook his head.

"I bet you can find one before you leave the building."

"It's Saturday, nobody is even here"

"One week, that's all I can give you. Bye Joe."

There were no new-old faces between 'Sullivitch's' office, but faster than he could say Google Joe went on line and pulled Ms. Smart Ass Editor's vital stats up.

_Oh, daddy is a doctor. You never had to scratch for a living, did you Sullivan. __Hunter and Bryn Mawr and Columbia, daddy is a rich doctor to send his baby girl to those schools. Who is that good looking man beside you…? Detective Sergeant James Dunbar and he's your husband. My my my, he's pretty enough to be a model and who knows about power like a police detective, maybe I should Google him too. No, I have friends who will tell me where to find the dear boy. I think I'll take some candid pictures of him and maybe I can get Ms. Fancy Dancy Sullivan off my back._

0o0o0

"Don't feed Hank donuts, Marty." Jim Dunbar could feel his guide dog quivering as Russo teased him. "He gets a special diet and donuts are not on it."

"Ah, come on Dunbar; let the poor pooch live a little. Besides, he's a cop, he's gotta love donuts."

"Russo, my dog ralphs on the squad room floor, you're cleaning it up."

"I'd pay to see that." Tom Selway smirked as he watched his team mates bicker. It was like watching an old married couple and it was a heck of a lot more entertaining than watching the crime scene techs check the abandoned car before the trunk was cracked. "Jim, when is Karen getting back from maternity leave?"

"Not soon enough, I'm getting tired of playing fifth wheel on this little red wagon. Probably another month, she's using accumulated vacation time to extend her time off."

"Heads up," Marty cut in, "I see a photographer at twelve o'clock. God, he's a big one."

Joffre snapped some pictures of the dirty, dented Nissan and the white suited men swarming around it. Then he snapped pictures of the three men standing off to the side. What a perfect set up; a blond, a brunette and a black man, it was as if someone ordered a diversity set to be photographed. When he finished Joe pulled a notebook from his camera bag and approached the men and played reporter.

"Guys, what have we got here?"

"No comment," Russo sneered.

"Come on, I need a story, I'm just a stringer." Joffre toned down his posh affectations and let his mid west drawl slip through. "If I can get a good story I get a good paycheck."

"This ain't no serial killer or espionage case… we don't know what's in the trunk." Marty snapped his gum and then a laconic grin spread across his face. "You know, on second thought maybe you should be the first one to see what's in the car."

"Marty," groaned Tom, "have a heart."

"Nyah, let's see what the next Geraldo Rivera does with the crime scene."

With that the three detectives stood back as the crime scene techs finished. Joffre got into the groove as he got shots both informative and artistic. As the tech pressed down on the pry bar Joffre crouched down to get a good shot of the contents of the trunk. He got the shot before the smell hit him. Joffre managed to hold his camera as he fell back and vomited down his front.

"Well, at least it's not Hank."

"Marty, you are a pain in the ass." Jim smirked and shook his head, "how many bodies in there?"

"Three," Tom Selway's voice dropped. "Three girls and it looks like three different states of decomp. Maybe we've got ourselves a serial killer."

Jim shook his head, "maybe we should take care of our Geraldo before we kick him to the curb."

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

Hello again. This chapter is also in my Blind Justice universe where Jim Dunbar has a promotion and new duties. I want to thank my beta reader, Alice and let TPTB know I am making no money from this story. This is just a lot of fun.

Also a few names from other televisions shows are mentioned, but this is not a cross over story.

**Unexpected Views **

Chapter Two

"Joe, come on, join us for a beer." Jim Dunbar leaned against his locker as the photographer tied the borrowed running shoes tight. "You deserve one; the guys are saying the pictures you took were better than any the CSI guys ever got."

Joffre eyed the blind detective, _how would you know_ his only thought.

"Yeah, if you don't watch out Mack Taylor is gonna offer you a job." Selway cut in as he slammed his locker shut. "Too bad Taylor won't let you keep your pictures."

"Not like I could sell them anywhere but a horror web site and I don't want my name connected to any of those." Joffre looked down at the clothes the officers had dug up for him. A stained and stretched out police athletic league t-shirt topped a pair of stained sweat pants. At least the running shoes fit decently but there were no socks to go with them. "Where do these clothes come from?"

"Don't ask, you might toss your cookies… again," Marty joked as he grabbed his coat. "Come on, Joe, first beer's on me."

"What, Russo buying, is this a month without an r in it?" Jim grabbed Hank's harness. "Joe, you gotta come, this is a miracle; it may never happen again."

Joffre looked at the three men, all tall, good looking and with an air of confidence around them. This had to be the power broker type Christie Sullivan was talking about and this was a chance to get in good with them.

"Okay, but the second beer's on me," he smiled and followed them out of the precinct house.

0o0o0

Joffre looked around and suppressed a grin. _Oh my god, it's a man buffet, a testosterone smorgasbord! _

"Move it, you're blocking the way into the bar."

Joffre turned to see a tall, dark haired with prominent side burns giving him the evil eye.

"Come on Flack, you might have to get used to Joe. Mack's seen his pictures and likes his work." Jim pressed his hand on Joffre's shoulder. "Joe, watch out for this guy. He's Mack Taylor's pet homicide detective."

"Hey, Dunbar, at least somebody wants me around." Flack swerved around the pair and then grabbed Joffre by the arm, "come here, Joe, and see who the real detectives hang out with."

Big men; black men; blond, brunette and bald men; surely in here Joffre DesLaurier could find a model for New York power brokers. He thought Zach Nichols, tall and gangly, pulling jazz tunes out of the out of tune piano could pull it off or maybe handsome, compact Mack Taylor who accompanied him on the bass. The big man with the salt and pepper hair was called Bobby and he waltzed the curly haired Stella Bonasera who Joffre had met earlier today at the crime lab. That guy looked like he was smart enough to do whatever he damn well pleased. There was a tall, acne scared bean pole pushing his glasses up his long roman nose as he reached the bar; he demanded a neat scotch and started to argue with his pony tailed, black partner that fluoride in the water ruined the taste of good booze. This didn't even include Russo, Selway and Dunbar; get any of these guys to pose for him and Christie Sullivan would snatch up any shot he sent in.

"You're lucky, Joe, somebody's having a party." Dunbar pointed himself toward the music, "If you have your camera ready you can make yourself a lot of friends."

Joffre pulled his camera from its case. "I aim to please," he smiled as he started clicking away when a heavily pregnant red head came in with a petite blond. A roar rose from the assembled officers told Joe this was a surprise party for the expectant woman. He couldn't have planned better shots as the men lined up to kiss the little mother.

0o0o0

The next morning a slightly hung over Joffre shuffled into his office and pushed his camera's memory card into his computer. Thumbnail images of each shot downloaded onto the hard drive while Joe poured himself a cup of strong black coffee. How many beers had he'd drunk last night? Pulling his notebook from his camera bag Joe flipped it open to pages filled with names and phone numbers of the cops he had met last night.

_Who would you think of as a mover and shaker, Ms. Sullivan? Taylor runs the crime lab; Cragen, Ross and Sipowicz run squads and Goren is supposed to be the best profiler in the city, the county and maybe the whole damn state. Does that say smarts or power? Even Andy Sipowicz would scare the shit outta most Wall Street types and he is definitely not pretty. God, what a bunch of idiots, but he'd had more fun there than he'd had in years. Especially Munch; that man couldn't really be a cop, he was too damn weird._

_Damn, phone… but which damn phone? The Joe phone; I've gotta remember to be Joe Lawrence when I answer this one._

"Morning, this is the walking dead, can I help you?"

"Hey, walking dead," Marty Russo's voice sounded tinny through the cheap burn phone, "you want a story get your ass to Canal and Mulberry; looks like a hostage situation at the Bank of East Asia. Just remember you didn't hear it from me and I might tell you when we find another trio of decomposing darlings."

Still clad in a t-shirt and sweats Joffre grabbed his lightweight Leica and headed out the door.

0o0o0

Joffre couldn't imagine how much time had passes as he sat on the curb, sweaty and exhausted but ecstatic. This was exciting. This was reality… and he hadn't played with reality in a long, long time.

"Hey, Larry-boy, I hope you aren't working for Dunbrook cuz if you are I am gonna confiscate those pictures." Joffre jumped when Tom Selway plopped down on the curb and pulled his wallet out. "I got these friends at Newsday, UPI and New York One. If your pictures are good they'll buy as fast as you can shoot'em." Tom smiled wide at the photographer, "I'm also a union rep and if those pictures you took at Lindsey Messer's baby shower look good I can get them into the union newsletter with your info on them. You'll get business, if you don't mind weddings, birthdays and bar mitzvahs." Tom levered himself up and scrubbed his hand over his face, "and Jim Dunbar's wife works for a magazine or something. If you kiss enough ass around here you won't be a stringer much longer."

"Thanks, Tom; I think I might have what I want right now. I'll get back to you later." Joffre stood and stretched, feeling each vertebrae snap back into alignment. Taking advantage of his natural elevation he quickly spotted Jim Dunbar talking to several uniformed officers and crime scene techs so Joffre sauntered over as casually as he could while all his other senses were going at hyper speed.

"Jim, what are you doing here now?"

"Joe?" Dunbar raised his hand to silence the photographer as he barked orders, "Drury, have you got all the eyewitnesses separated correctly?"

"Yeah, Dunbar; there were only five customers on the floor and we have them on chairs in the a bunch of lobbies. Employees are either in their offices or at desks with enough supervision to stop chatter. Russo left for the hospital with the perp…"

"That's person of interest," Jim grinned, "don't give the scumbag any excuse to cry crime scene contamination or undo influence."

Officer Drury blew a long, loud raspberry before he continued, "the scumbag of interest and Russo traveled in the same ambulance to Bellevue. He unconscious from lack of blood, but since it was a armored car guard's bullet that caused that it would be Brink's brutality."

"Okay, release each one after their statements are finished and I'll decide who to call in for follow ups." Dunbar tilted his head, "Joe, how the hell did you get here? You got a police scanner?"

"Yeah, and I got inside help now too." Joffre grinned.

"I didn't hear that." Jim reached down and grabbed Hank's harness. Joffre hadn't even noticed the big dog was there, but with Jim in take charge mode it was easy to forget the man was blind. "I'm supervising this mess, but it looks like a done deal. Nothing like tweakers to get everything screwed up when they need their meth. Now get out of here before someone notices you." Jim swung around and headed toward his ride when unexpected words flew out of his mouth, "just how freaking tall are you, Lawrence?"

"Six foot five inches."

"Please tell me you don't play basketball," Dunbar shot back as he shooed Hank into the back of the squad car and got the driver to head to the precinct house.

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you for the reviews, I appreciate them very much and it makes me want to keep writing. _Waves to Australia!!! _I will thank my Beta again and hope she continues her writing again soon. _nudge nudge_

**Unexpected Views**

Chapter three

_Alfred Sung, D-Squared, DKNY… they'll all want me to shoot their collections. I'd be able to name my price… name my assignments; but, damn, I've had so damn much fun working with the guys." _

Joffre grabbed his hair and growled, _"_I just have to figure out a way to do both. It's Wednesday; I gotta bring in test shots Saturday and Sullivan is not gonna give me another chance. How do I get the shots?"

"Fake it 'till you make it," DesLaurier grabbed his camera bag and headed to the door, "and if you can't fake it, tell the truth."

0o0o0

"Dunbar here," Jim yawned into his cell phone, "just tell me what's the matter now?" _Damn, running an investigation was harder than pounded the pavement_.

"Jim, it's Joe Lawrence, you got time to see me tonight?"

"Actually, I'm stuck here until Russo and Selway get back. What can I do for you?"

"I'm outside with two coffees with matching cheese danishes. How about I come up there and tell you?"

"Decent coffee… I'll meet you at the door." Dunbar snapped his phone shut, put on his shades and headed down to the entrance.

Joffre looked up as he entered the precinct house. _"Damn, the man looks like a model, I wonder if Sullivan picks out his clothes. _"Jim, these are black. I thought you might want to keep your girlish figure."

"Watch it, Lawrence; I'm sure I can dig up something on you if I look hard enough." Jim held his hand out, "gimme that coffee and I'll let you off easy."

Joffre swiveled his head to take in the whole police precinct, getting the whole 'law and order' ambiance of the place. _It's cleaner than I thought it, might be able to use it as a photo location. Hey, where the hell did Jim go? _"Hey, hold on, I gotta catch up!" He had to race to reach Dunbar at the elevator, groaning as he sloshed his high priced coffee down his retro t-shirt.

Jim grinned as the elevator doors shut. "Joe, every cop in the station will follow you home if you keep wearing 'eau de coffee'. Come on or we'll be here all night."

Joffre ran his hand through his hair. "I've got a confession to make…"

Dunbar chuckled and settled into his chair. "You're a felon; a serial killer? I gotta tell you you've got the right to remain silent."

Joe dropped onto nearby chair, "If it were that easy, I'd confess to being Jack the Ripper. I've been a photographer for a few years now, but a fashion photographer. That's where the money is. I got a chance to do a national magazine spread and it could push me into a whole new level of success. I just had to please one really picky editor."

"Christine Sullivan, right."

"Give the man a cigar, I googled her and found you. Jim, I fell into the whole fashion thing with the help of Christine Sullivan and I'm good at what I do. Fashion has all of the artistic possibilities I ever wanted and all the artistic excitement of a velvet Elvis. I know I live in a world of crap artists and phonies because I'm the biggest phony there." Joe started to pick apart the Danish as he continued. "I did try to make a living as a stringer when I first got to here, but there are just so damn many stringers in this town I couldn't make a living. I ended up doing whatever I could to pay the bills."

Jim's voice was hard and cold and he bite his words off sharply when he answered. "If your work is even been noticed by my wife, you have to be better than most. So why pretend to care what a bunch of cops think of your stuff."

"Because this is what I wanted to do, news shots, crime scenes; maybe even a war correspondent someday."

"Dreams change, don't they."

Joe gave a sad chuckle. "Yeah, I no longer dream of getting my ass shot off in Afghanistan. Fashion's a money job, but I know I can do more. I want to make New York City mean something more than terrorist attacks and dirty streets. I want to make it beautiful again, a place where you can dream again." He dropped his empty coffee cup into the trash, stood up and started to pace. "Sullivan wants shots of powerful men and she seems stuck on bankers, lawyers and stock brokers. Hell, not even real ones; just models that look good in Armani. Help me get shots of the real power in this city; cops, fire fighters, EMTs… even judges and politicians. If I get this assignment I'll donate my salary to any charity you name. Hell, we could guilt the magazine into kicking a portion of the profits to the 'Widows and Orphans Fund' if that's what you want."

Dunbar smirked. This could be interesting. "I'll make a few calls; see what I can come up with. I even know a few you might not have thought of when you started this. Your 'models' get a copy of the pictures."

Joffre crowed, "Suitable for framing, but I've only got 48 hours to get the test shots done."

"You don't ask for much, do you," Jim laughed as he opened his phone. "I hope you've got your camera, because we're gonna have to start tonight."

0o0o0

Saturday morning Christine Sullivan walked off the elevator to magazine's floor and stopped cold. Joffre DesLaurier was sleeping on one of the god-awful, uncomfortable chairs that sat in front of the reception desk. Dirty sneakers covered his feet instead of his chrome toed cowboys boots and his jeans and t-shirt were ripped, stained and ready for the trash. He had better have some damn good shots or she was going to black ball him from every editor in the city.

"Joffre," she kicked his foot, "have you got something for me."

Joe yawned, looked up and then jumped up. "Have I got shots for you. I have found just what you want. If the designers like these models they are willing to work for once… and only once."

"Only once," Sullivan couldn't imagine what DesLaurier was up to, "these had better be good pictures. Follow me." She didn't bother to look behind as she stomped to her office. Joffre trailed behind, knowing these were some of the best pictures he had ever taken.

Sullivan had barely gotten seated when Joffre placed his laptop on the desk and plugged in a yellow USB drive. The screen was soon covered with the test shots she had demanded. One was of Mac Taylor in the NYPD forensics lab, arms crossed and his face exuding his strong personality. The next was DA Jack McCoy in front of the court building, briefcase in hand and looking like he could take on the world. Night shots, day shots, interiors and exteriors captured the faces of the men who served and protected the city. EMTs leaning against their ambulances, fire fighters in uniform or protective gear standing tall for the cameras, patrol men in precinct houses and with their cars; all letting Joffre DesLaurier take their pictures for a fashion magazine.

"I printed this one for you," Joffre said as he slipped a five by seven black and white in front of Sullivan. It was a casually posed shot of Tom Selway, Marty Russo and Jimmy in interrogation room one.

"Where's Hank," she smirked.

"With Lieutenant Fisk, the dog's a camera hog. He stole the limelight in every shot he was in."

Christie Sullivan chuckled and leaned back in her chair. "I'll present these to the clients. You can get these 'models'?"

"One time only and I have to donate my pay to each models chosen charity. I might suggest similar donations from any client and the magazine. It would make a good public relations gesture." Joffre settled back and smiled at Christie Sullivan.

"You are going go far in this business, Joffre DesLaurier."

"Nope, Joe Lawrence is gonna go far."

The End


End file.
